I’m a waitress, and Jack and Lora were regulars. Cute couple, always shared the bill, except the last few months. Jack had taken to leaving Lora (sweet, always polite) holding the bag — literally, the bill. But this time was different.

He came here with his 8 buddies yelling it’d be HIS treat. A mountain of burgers and steaks arrived. Then came Lora, looking pale.

As I cleared plates, I couldn’t help but overhear her saying:

Her: “I won’t pay this time. I’m not kidding.” Him: (grinning) “Sure babe.”

But when I brought the bill, he AGAIN gave it to HER. You should’ve seen her teary face.

She excused herself, went to the toilet, and I heard her yelling into the phone, “So, now I earn 25% more than him and have to pay for all his buddies?!”

I couldn’t stand aside, so a few minutes later, I put on my best smile and went to her husband, “Excuse me, sir.”

He barely looked up from his phone, laughing with his friends. “Yeah?”

“Your wife asked me to split the bill, since these are YOUR guests. Your share comes to $450. Will that be cash or card?”

Silence. The grin vanished. His friends shifted uncomfortably. One even cleared his throat.

Jack scoffed. “She’ll cover it. Right, babe?”

Lora had just returned, and for the first time, she didn’t shrink back. “No, Jack. I won’t. Pay your own bill.”

He looked around, as if searching for a way out. “I don’t have that kind of money on me.”

“Oh, but you had money to order half the menu,” I said, keeping my voice light. “No worries, we take all cards.”

His friends began murmuring. “Dude, just pay,” one muttered.

Jack scoffed again, reaching for his wallet. “Fine.”

I watched as he reluctantly handed me a card. Declined.

A second card. Also declined.

His face turned red. “This is ridiculous. Lora, just—”

“No, Jack. I already paid last time. And the time before that. You told me you’d get this. So, figure it out.”

His friends were now visibly uncomfortable, checking their own wallets, realizing they might have to cover for their freeloading buddy. A few started throwing cash onto the table, but it wasn’t enough.

“Sir,” I said, voice still polite, “We do allow customers to wash dishes if they can’t pay.”

Jack’s face burned with embarrassment. “You’re joking.”

I shrugged. “Restaurant policy.”

His friends, probably realizing Jack had been mooching off his wife for months, suddenly found the situation hilarious.

“Dude, put on an apron!” one laughed.

“Yeah, time to work off those steaks!”

Lora simply grabbed her purse, stood up, and without another glance at Jack, walked out.

I watched as Jack fumed, looking between his friends and me. No one was bailing him out. Eventually, the manager came over, and Jack was led to the back to scrub dishes for the night. His friends? They left him there.

Lora came back the next day, alone. She looked lighter, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “I left him,” she said simply. “I realized I’d been carrying more than just the bills.”

Good for her.

Sometimes, people need a reality check. And sometimes, they just need to be left with their dirty dishes.

If you liked this story, share it—someone out there might need the courage to walk away from a Jack of their own.